


Passion Beyond Cunning or Reason

by BlueMinuet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, M/M, Restraints, Sixshot Has A Face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: Magnus looked down at his captain and shifted nervously. “Well… you see Sixshot and I… we’re…”“Acquaintances,” Sixshot interjected, at the same moment that Ultra Magnus said, “Casual lovers.”An AU in which Sixshot takes Overlord’s place on the Lost Light — A Dramedy





	Passion Beyond Cunning or Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [privatepenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatepenne/gifts).

> Yes, the title is based on a Jack London quote again, it’s what we do here now in this tag.

Ultra Magnus was running down the halls of the Lost Light as fast as his legs would take him. There was an alarm going off, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he had no idea what that meant. It wasn’t an alarm he was familiar with. Which, in itself, was ludicrous. Magnus had checked, cross-checked, and performed weekly inspections of every alarm system on the ship since before the Lost Light had even taken off. The fact that there could be an alarm that he had no idea about was not only patently ridiculous, but frankly insulting. 

There had been brief chirps and chatter of panic coming in from the crew, but quite honestly, none of it made any sense. All it gave was a vague sense of location: the lower decks. Much to his chagrin, Magnus had been forced to bend a few security protocols to ensure he got down there as quickly as physically possible. 

He made a mental note to write himself up with the necessary disciplinary forms, and recommend a performance improvement plan for himself for Rodimus to approve as soon as the emergency was over. 

He rounded the corner to find a dozen members of the crew in various states of disarray, the walls and floors scuffed and dented as if mechs had been thrown around like small playthings. A hulking figure was mere yards from Magnus, seeming to do just that, batting Ratchet easily until he flopped over a stack of crates in the corner, smashing into Drift who seemed to have just reached his feet before the medic smashed into him. 

Before Magnus could announce his presence, the figured turned, frame moving with a cocky bravado that started to ping to Magnus as familiar mere seconds before he saw the face and all suspicions were confirmed. 

“Magnus!” Sixshot shouted. His stance instantly changed, dialing down from his fearsome fighting stance and relaxing into something more casual. “Shit, what are you doing here?” 

“I…” Magnus sputtered over his words in shock. “Me? You… you’re asking me… No! What? What are you…” 

“Oh… man, you didn’t know?” Sixshot was frowning, a fact that caused Magnus the belated revelation that Sixshot was lacking his face mask, leaving his features fully in view. His frown deepened, the scars around his mouth pulling it into a nasty looking gash. “I was being held prisoner. Under the ship…” 

“Under the ship!” Magnus parroted back with more heat. “What in the name of Primus does that mean?!” 

“It’s like a…” Sixshot made a vague hand gesture that translated into nothing. “It’s like this little… I dunno, thing? Hooks up to an airlock? Oh!” His face brightened with some sort of revelation and he snapped his fingers. “Actually, that’s genius! If they wanted to keep it from some stickler like you, obviously they couldn’t just put me on the ship, so they added a piece that wasn’t part of the blueprints. Man, that is smart!” 

“What?” Magnus asked. He felt the urge to cradle his helm in his hands, but resisted it. “Who are ‘they’? Who would want to trap you here?” 

“I mean, I’m not a narc,” Sixshot said with a shrug. “There were a couple people visiting in my cell, but it’s easy to tell when you’re not dealing with the mastermind, you know? And I never actually saw the person giving the orders…” He trailed off, then laughed. “I’m just fucking with you, it’s definitely Prowl. I mean, come on.” 

Magnus gave into his urges, cradling his forehead in one hand. “Alright, that does make some amount of sense. To what end, though?” 

“Oh, that?” Sixshot shrugged. “Apparently Prowl wanted to know what makes Phase Sixers tick. At least, that seemed to be what the mnemosurgeon he sicced on me was looking for.”

“So, Chromedome was involved,” Magnus muttered. 

“Oops, guess I named names after all,” Sixshot said. He seemed disappointed in himself for a nanosecond before shrugging. “Fine, it was him and the double agent that I saw the most.” 

Magnus straightened at that, eyes going wide in alarm. “The double… who?” 

“Oh, you know,” Sixshot said, again waving his hand vaguely. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know? I mean… he’s not exactly a good double agent is he, but man… that little bitch makes some sweet weapons, I don’t even care if he’s actually an Autobot double crossing us, because just… You have to respect craftsmanship, you know?” 

“Hey, I hate to interrupt…” 

It was only then that Magnus noticed the audience that had assembled, watching their conversation. He supposed it made sense; Sixshot _had_ been fighting a large number of the crew after all. 

Rodimus was the one speaking, and he was looking more and more cross as the seconds ticked by. “Magnus, what the hell is going on?” 

“Mouthy subordinate you have there,” Sixshot muttered. 

Rodimus yelped indignantly as Magnus groaned. 

“What?” Sixshot asked. “Wait, are you not the captain? What the hell, Magnus? They didn’t give you your own ship? I think you deserve your own ship after all this time…” 

Magnus covered his eyes. “Sixshot, please…” 

“Excuse you, I’m the captain,” Rodimus said, jabbing a thumb at himself. 

“Right,” Sixshot said slowly. “And you’re… slag, don’t tell me.” He waved a hand as his face contorted in thought. “Don’t tell me, I know it… it’s not Bumblebee, it’s the other one, uh…” 

“Shut up,” Rodimus snapped. He turned back to Magnus. “What the hell is this? We were fighting him tooth and nail, and as soon as you show up he’s suddenly chummy?” 

Magnus looked down at his captain and shifted nervously. “Well… you see Sixshot and I… we’re…” 

“Acquaintances,” Sixshot interjected, at the same moment that Ultra Magnus said, “Casual lovers.” 

Sixshot barked out a laugh. “Oh my slag, you said it! I was going to give you an out, holy scrap.” 

Magnus watched him, deflated with shame, as Sixshot doubled over with laughter. 

“What the hell, Magnus?” Rodimus barked. 

Sixshot was still laughing, slumping over onto a wall to keep from falling over. “Well, hold on,” he said, slowly wiping tears from his optics. “The way I see it, someone high level had to have approved taking a Phase Sixer on board to torture, and if it wasn’t my sweetheart…” 

Magnus jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t call me that!” 

“Right. Just when we’re in public though, right?” Sixshot laughed harder. “Oh man, I feel woozy. Is it that time dilation thing they were talking about? Can that make you woozy?” 

“The what?” Magnus asked. “Enough nonsense. Our relationship aside,” Magnus said, ignoring Sixshot as he muttered ‘casual lovers’ again, “Sixshot, you’ve hurt members of the crew, so I’ll have to arrest you while we sort this out.” 

“What? I didn’t kill anyone,” Sixshot said with a shrug. “I was just batting people aside. I know rank and file when I see it. I was just planning it keep shoving my way through people until I found Prowl or Optimus Prime or whoever the hell was in charge and rip them inside out, but… man, this is more hilarious than I could have hoped.” He laughed again, and instantly wobbled. “Woo, not kidding about this woozy thing though. You guys got a doctor that could look at me?”

Ratchet, who had by now extricated himself from Drift and was leaning against the pile of crates, made a grumbling noise to accentuate his glaring. 

“Right, threw you across a room,” Sixshot muttered. “Also that little _thing_ on Earth, right?” He continued on to say, “my bad,” but encased it in air-quotes, which undercut any semblance of apology. 

He then proceeded to fall over completely, sprawling out unconscious on the floor. 

“Fine,” Ratchet said with a huff. “Magnus, drag your casual lover into my medbay and I’ll take a look.” 

Magnus groaned into his hand.  
  


* * *

  
Sixshot felt his head swim as he slowly came back to consciousness. The first thing he noticed, hazily, were the voices around him. 

“So do we finally have all of the guilty parties here? Can we get started on the finger pointing?” 

“Rodimus, I will not let this devolve into—” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you could throw stones when you’ve been fragging the enemy!” 

“Rodimus—” 

“So, if you two are just going to catfight, can I just—” 

“No! Traitors absolutely do not get to just duck out!” 

“Hey, cool, get it. But let’s not throw around that ‘T’ word so recklessly. Maybe let’s maybe just settle down.” 

“Oh no. No. We are not settling down, we are settling up!” 

“That doesn’t even…” 

Sixshot finally managed to make his optics boot up, and his vision swam for a moment, thankfully distracting him from the argument ongoing in the background. Finally his optics deigned to let him look up straight, only to find Ratchet scowling down at him. He waved some kind of scanner over him, before folding it closed as soon as he realized Sixshot was awake. 

“Welcome to the world of the living,” he whispered, and those arguing seemed too distracted to take notice. “Though if you ask me, I think Hell might have been a safer choice.” With that, the ornery medic stepped away. 

Sixshot wasn’t stupid enough to speak up, quickly sensing that nothing good could come of the arguing mechs around him acknowledging his presence. Instead he resolved to test his limbs — all restrained, as he had expected. He may have been weakened, but he knew his captors weren’t stupid enough to allow him full range of motion.

Well, at least one of them wasn’t. 

He tilted his head, trying to get as good of an angle on the rest of the med bay as his position would allow. The first thing to catch his eye was Magnus, taller than all of the rest but slightly hunched, though that seemed to be due more to his embarrassment than any restriction from the ceiling. Next he saw the fiery one, shouting the loudest and windmilling his hands as he spoke. And finally, the little double agent weaponsmith and his mnemosurgeon friend, in different stages of taking the verbal assault from their captain. 

“So, if I’ve got all this straight,” Rodimus said, prodding his forehead with his fingers. “Sixshot got loose because Chromedome got cocky and started going in without supervision? And so apparently Brainstorm, despite being a Decepticon—” 

“Whoa, okay no one said I was a D—”

“Despite being a Decepticon,” Rodimus repeated, with more heat, “is actually innocent… On this _one_ front.” 

Brainstorm held up his hands in defeat. 

“However, if he hadn’t been brought on board in the first place…” Magnus muttered

Rodimus whirled around, directing all of his fire at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. If I had known you two were dating, I would’ve asked Prowl to load on Overlord instead. Unless you’re fragging him too?” 

“Primus I hope not. Lordy’s a sloppy bitch,” Sixshot muttered. Then cursed, as all eyes looked to him. 

Rodimus jabbed a finger at him. “You don’t get to contribute to this.” 

“Oh, what? Am I supposed to apologize for escaping?” Sixshot asked, deciding if he was in this, he might as well go all in. “What part of this exactly is my fault? I could’ve killed half the crew and ripped my way out of the hull before you even noticed I was loose. I didn’t. _You’re welcome_.” 

Even Magnus was glaring at that. 

“What I don’t understand,” Sixshot said, frowning, “is how I ended up fainting like a dainty organic.”

Chromedome raised his hand. “That’d be me. Should’ve kicked in sooner, but you resisted the trigger more than I expected. I didn’t have time to fully cement it in your psyche.” 

“What?” Magnus asked. 

“It’s called ‘Trepan’s Trigger,’” Chromedome said. “You plant a phrase within someone’s mind to elicit a certain response.” 

“So, what was the trigger?” Magnus asked. 

Chromedome stared at him for a long moment, before saying. “Lovers.” 

Mganus looked away.

“Huh,” Sixshot mused, looking up at the ceiling. “Wow, you _do_ say that to me _a lot_.”

Rodimus made a sound of disgust. 

Magnus sighed. “Can everyone let me have a moment?” he asked, shutting his optics. 

“Why? So you can—“ Rodimus was abruptly cut off my a pleading glance from Magnus. “Fine,” he growled, barely audible. “This isn’t over though.” 

“It certainly isn’t,” Magnus whispered back as the rest slowly slinked out of the medbay. 

Sixshot watched Magnus, silently, as he stared off. “So…” Sixshot began, feeling oddly sheepish. “Sorry for causing trouble.”

“Why would you be?” Magnus said, not looking at him. “For once, it’s not your fault.” 

“Well, true, I guess. But not for lack of trying.” Magnus didn’t seem to react. Sixshot thought about asking what it was he even wanted this private word for, but stopped himself. “So what happens next?”

“As soon as Ratchet gives you the clear, I’ll transfer you to the brig.”

Sixshot frowned, and felt miffed about the lack of his mask to obscure it. “That’s not really what I meant…”

Magnus looked at him. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He crossed his arms and sighed. “I’ve felt so lost ever since the war ended. Like there’s no purpose. Not just for me, but for everyone.” He paused, frown deepening. “The whole world is different.”

“Is it?” Sixshot asked. “I mean, from where I’m lying, people like you are still locking up people like me, so…”

Magnus just shook his head. 

“I guess I get it,” Sixshot offered him. “That’s how you and me operate, right? You have a duty, you do it. Without that…”

Magnus nodded. 

“But, no war…” Sixshot paused mid-thought to boggle at such a statement on its own. “Well, I guess none of us knows what it means. But, it means no Decepticons, right? No Autobots either.”

“That’s preposterous,” Magnus said, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Look, I’m just saying…” Sixshot trailed off, and shrugged as best as his restraints would allow. “I mean… doesn’t have to be all bad, right?” 

Magnus looked at him. Fully looked at him this time, blue optics drilling through his face panels. Sixshot felt exposed, but at the same time had no clue what to make of the expression. 

“I should go,” Magnus said, backing away. 

Sixshot tried to sit up, only to get slammed back down to the berth by the restraints. “I’ll see you when you come to lock me up though, right?”

Magnus slipped out of the medbay without a word in reply.  
  


* * *

  
Sixshot was not particularly pleased with how often he was finding himself restrained recently. He briefly occupied himself with trying to remember when the last time he wasn’t chained or in a cell of some sort, and couldn’t quite place it, especially since one said cage had been in a time dilution field, which made everything a little hazy.

The train of thought was interrupted as Star Saber kicked his knees from behind, forcing him to kneel as his restraint collar forced his chin up. 

Sixshot leered at him. “You know, you could buy me a drink first.”

Star Saber made no move to react to that, and instead Tyrest grabbed Sixshot’s chin and forced them to lock eyes. 

“Well, if it isn’t one of Megatron’s famed Phase Sixers,” Tyrest said. “I must say, I didn’t expect to find such a specimen on the Lost Light.” 

Sixshot tried to shrug, only for his wrenched shoulder to give a twinge. He tried to shake off the flinch and give him a hard look. “What can I say? I like being unconventional.” 

“Now, now, there’s no need for that kind of tone.” Tyrest let his chin go and snapped his fingers, and Star Saber loosened the chain from Sixshot’s neck. Sixshot glared at him, then Tyrest, and then with no one elaborating further, he ran a finger over his neck cabling where the collar had been digging in. He stood up, slowly, never one to count his seekers before they hatched. 

“So, thanks, I guess?” Sixshot said, giving Tyrest a dubious look. “Not to look a gift turbofox in the mouth, but I didn’t think liberating stray Decepticons was your deal. Am I about to be tried for war crimes?” 

Tyrest laughed, the tone and cadence of it just slightly off, raising Sixshot’s hackles. “Haven’t you heard? The war is over.” He grinned, meeting Sixshot’s gaze. “No, I have a different proposition for you.” 

At Tyrest’s prompting, Star Saber reached over his shoulder, and produced another sword. It was similar to Star Saber’s own, and something about it rang a vague bell in Sixshot’s mind. No clear memories to speak of, but something about cultists and ancient spiritual weapons and other such laughing stock notions. Star Saber stabbed it into the ground, just out of Sixshot’s reach, and he involuntarily flinched for what that must do to the blade. 

“It’s a new era,” Tyrest said, optics glinting. “A new age, and we all must adapt. Myself included. You may have noticed I have a number of your former compatriots in my employ already.” His grin widened, the kind of feral, fanged look that Sixshot was more than acquainted with. “I could give you a new purpose in this new era. A new cause to fight for.” 

Sixshot forced out a chuckle, though there was no sincerity to it. “Here I thought you already had an enforcer.” 

“I do, of course,” Tyrest said, gesturing with his staff. “Star Saber here.” At Sixshot’s confused glance, he continued. “As I said. New tools for a new age.” 

“Well, if you’re looking for tools,” Sixshot muttered. “What was wrong with your old one though?” 

“If you must know, I’ve decided Magnus should be… retired.” He said so without so much as a falter in his grin, and Sixshot itched to rip the mouth off his face. “Not that it should be any concern of yours, of course.” 

“Of course,” Sixshot said, mentally mapping out how many steps away from the sword he was without letting his eyes dart there. 

“No, no, I have quite enough enforcement for the accords,” Tryest continued, beginning to pace slightly. “But the crew of the Lost Light… I’m sure you would love to get revenge on you former captors, yes?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He looked to Star Saber, judging the distance between the two of them, estimating his reaction time. “But tell me, what assurances would you give me that I won’t end up getting tried as a war criminal the minute I’m through with them?” 

He didn’t bother listening to Tyrest’s response, just waiting a second for him to get caught up in whatever grandstanding speech he was about to launch into. Instead, Sixshot dove for the sword, tucking in as Star Saber slashed forward, unsteady as Sixshot forced him out of his range. Sixshot ignored him, and lunged straight for Tyrest. Holding the edge of the blade to his neck seemed to take the wind out of Star Saber’s sails. 

Tyrest though. 

Tyrest smiled. 

“How fascinating,” Tyrest said. “I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Caught a touch of sympathy for the enemy, have you?”

Sixshot glared at him. “Really smug for a mech about to die, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, on the contrary.” 

Sixshot didn’t notice Tyrest’s thumb twitch until it was too late. A blast of noise assaulted his audials, and before he could process what was going on, he collapsed limply on the floor. 

Tyrest stood over him, shooting a stern, snide look down at him. “Star Saber, be a dear and collect the riff raff, will you?” 

Star Saber plucked Sixshot’s sword from his hand without a bit of protest from his limp fingers, and thrust it into the wall like a trophy. “Of course, Chief Justice.” 

Sixshot found himself collared again, and then being dragged out like an unruly dog. The collar dug into the fuel lines in his neck, making his vision go fuzzy with each tug, though he couldn’t muster the ability to protest. Whatever Tyrest had done to him, it began to wear off as soon as he was dragged out of the room, but it was a slow process. He managed to blink and decided it was a rousing success. 

If he could blink, then it was only a matter before the rest of his functions came back as well. And from there, it was a waiting game, looking for the right moment to escape. Star Saber and Tyrest had to slip up eventually, afterall. And he was good at waiting. 

Star Saber yanked his collar to lead him down the hall further. His cell seemed to be in sight, at least. Sixshot turned his head down the junction they were at, trying to assess the layout as much as possible. 

He was met with a sight that made his spark stutter. 

“Wha’s that?” Sixshot managed to slur out of his slowly recovering mouth, refusing to take his eyes off the Ultra Magnus replica in the corner. Or, at least, he hoped it was some kind of replica. “Wha— wha’d you do to Magnus?” 

“That’s no one’s concern save for the Chief Justice,” Star Saber spat at him. “Least of all yours.” He pulled the leash mercilessly, making Sixshot’s optics fuzz a grainy grey. 

“Listen here you sanctimonious choir boy,” Sixshot said, forcing his vocoder to work through sheer force of anger. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on here, or—” He was cut off with a quick kick to his midriff. 

“Prisoners don’t ask questions.” 

Sixshot crumpled, much to his embarrassment, and continued to be dragged to his cell. The shouting did not stop though, and his efforts to become a nuisance intensified as he struggled against his constraints. 

In the middle of his tantrum, he noticed another bot down the hall, just a hair bigger than a minibot, staring out at him. Sixshot paused for a minute to consider him for a moment. He could have easily been one of the many rogue Decepticons that Sixshot had caught a glimpse of in the complex — his green armor and red optics certainly wouldn’t have been out of place — but something about the way his optics seemed to soften sadly made Sixshot pause. 

Said pause was a moment too long and Star Saber got in a punch to his helm, easily spreading him out on the ground. He managed to loll his head just in time to see the green bot disappear into Tyrest’s chambers, and the rest was lost to Star Saber scrapping him across the floor, unceremoniously dumping him in a holding cell.  
  


* * *

  
Sixshot sat entirely silent in his cell, glaring at the ceiling. He’d wedged an access panel open, on his side of the wall opposite from the door controls. Honestly, it was one of the easier escape setups he’d come across in his time, Tyrest’s guards seeming to consist nearly exclusively of the weird yellow drones he saw occasionally passing through. 

There was just one fatal flaw in his escape plan, and that was a method of actually _doing_ anything with the open panel. In truth, Sixshot was no great escape artist, and his only real instinct with the open panel before him was to shoot it. But being unarmed and with a mode lock still clamped onto his neck — courtesy of Prowl — he had no way of doing so. He had tried punching and clawing at it, and had only gotten shocked for his trouble. 

The thing was — while the average Autobot may have thought him an escape artist — in truth, that was only because of Magnus and their… arrangement. In an Autobot prison, Magnus would have come around by now to interrogate him, maybe rough him up a bit — which Sixshot had a tendency to insist on more than Magnus did — and inform him of the plan to get him out without alerting either side to treachery. 

Sixshot returned the favor for Magnus whenever needed, of course. Though, that came up much more infrequently than the alternative, much to Sixshot’s annoyance. 

And so, instead, he glared. 

He was startled when he looked down to see a small bot standing just outside of his cell. 

“Uhh?” He cocked his head, giving him a look. He recognized him as the same green bot he had seen before, with the sad eyes. He seemed to be in no better state now, eyes cast down to the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” the bot finally said, doing nothing to solve Sixshot’s confusion. 

“Umm, this is awkward, but if you did something to me, it was clearly too minor for me to remember, so…” 

The bot didn’t react to that. One hand of his was resting on the containment bars, tapping lightly. Which was especially odd, considering that such things were not designed to be painless. 

“I didn’t mean to get you caught up in all of this,” the bot said, not paying any attention to Sixshot. “I just thought… I just wanted to give Rodimus a wakeup call. Everyone on the ship that was involved. I thought Tyrest would be lenient… I thought maybe we could get through this without revealing you to him.” 

Sixshot cocked his head, squinting deeper. “What are you—” 

“I didn’t know that Tyrest had become so obsessed,” the bot continued. He was still tapping on the electrified bars, but Sixshot started to realize there was a rhythm to it. Twice, then four times after a brief pause, then a tap on the wall, followed by more tapping on the bar. He started paying attention, checking for a pattern. “The last I spoke to Tyrest, he was reasonable. Driven, of course, but reasonable. I looked up to him… I never thought—” 

“Wait,” Sixshot cut him off, leaning forward. “Who are you?” 

The bot finally met his eyes (though the tapping pattern never wavered). “I’m so sorry, Sixshot.” 

Sixshot was nearly at the bars now. “Magnus?” 

The bot closed his eyes. “I’m going to try to make things better, alright? There’s still something good in Tyrest. I believe that. There has to be.” With that, he finished the pattern of his tapping on the bars, and stepped away. “Probably best if you’re not here next he checks.” 

“Magnus, wait!” Sixshot shouted, almost launching himself at the bars. Magnus — if that was him — had already set a brisk pace, making his way back to Tyrest’s chambers. “He’s unhinged!” Sixshot shouted after him. “Don’t you dare go in there!” 

Magnus took no heed of his shouts as he rounded the corner.  
  


* * *

  
“I can’t allow that,” Minimus shouted, pointing a finger at Tyrest. His own words were still ringing in his head, about feeling free and unburdened for the first time since taking on the mantle. “Ultra Magnus wouldn’t allow that,” he continued, even though he wasn’t sure how much that mattered to either of them at this point. Minimus had spent centuries trying to fill that Magnus shaped void, to live up to the legend of the eternal lawman. Maybe that didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was enough that he — Minimus — wouldn’t allow it. 

“I know,” Tyrest said, infuriatingly unbothered by Minimus’s rebellion. “Which is why I’m invoking Section 90, Subsection 16 of the Tyrest Accord.” 

“There’s no such—”

“It’s new,” Tyrest cut him off. “Preemptive execution. When the Chief Justice has reason to believe that action will be taken against him…”

Minimus became aware of a hulking figure behind him, a hair too late. He tried to dodge but the hand closing in over his face was too fast and—

Minimus blinked. He’d been sure the hand would crush his helm in, but when he opened his eyes the hand slumped before him, falling free of the arm it had been attached to just a moment ago. The legislator’s head similarly found itself divorced from its body balanced briefly on the broad edge of a sword before falling to the ground with a crunch. 

He looked up as Sixshot whipped his sword back, a spray of energon flicking off of it. Sixshot was giving it an impressed look, as if he was just as surprised at Minimus to see him standing there, holding a Great Sword with a glowing hilt. 

“Sorry to interrupt the sentencing,” Sixshot said, turning a glare at Tyrest. “Just wanted to come back for this thing before I ran off. I kinda started to like it,” he said, gesturing with the sword before he spun it and pointed it at Tyrest’s neck. “Looks like it feels the same way.” 

“Sixshot,” Minimus growled. 

“You can say ‘thank you’ later,” Sixshot muttered at him. 

“Well, well, back for round two then?” Tyrest said, interrupting any argument on the verge of breaking out.

_[Shut off your audials,]_ came a private channel comm from Sixshot, directly into Minimus’s head. He dutifully shut them off before thinking to ask any clarifying questions, and so the next sequence of events seemed a little hazy on the details. But he saw Tyrest flip some kind of switch, and Sixshot cockily tilt his head when nothing happened. 

Faster than a blink, Tyrest was bloodied and on the ground. 

Sixshot gave him a wave, and Minimus reactivated his audials. 

“What the hell just happened?” Minimus shouted. 

Sixshot shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure what he said, but I assume it was something like ‘Sixshot, how could you have foiled my genius sound-weapon?’ and then I said, ‘You go to enough of Tarn’s poetry readings, and you learn a trick or two.’” He trailed off, wiping the enegron from his blade off on Tyrest’s cloak. “Then I stabbed him. So…” 

“Sixshot,” Minimus growled. 

“What? Okay, I know, it wasn’t my best line, but to be fair, I couldn’t hear myself saying it, so it was going to be stupid anyway…” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Minimus said. “I told you to—”

“Wait.” 

“Don’t tell me to wait when I’m telling you off!” 

“No, I mean…” Sixshot nodded to the door. “You hear that.” 

Minimus went quiet, and listened. “Footsteps?” 

Sixshot readied his sword. “Don’t suppose you know how many of those gold dudes he has?” 

“A lot.” 

Sixshot grunted. “Well… I hope you pack a lot of punch in that itty bitty body, Magnus.” 

“Minimus, actually…” 

Sixshot looked at him. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Minimus agreed.  
  


* * *

  
Much, much later, in Swerve’s bar, Magnus took off Sixshot’s mode lock. 

Minimus had disappeared at some point after the whole killswitch thing. Sixshot had meant to point out that the only reason he hadn’t fully killed Tyrest — just bloodied him up quite a bit — was because he wasn’t sure if Magnus (or Minimus, or whoever he was) would have forgiven him for that. But it turned out it would have been much better for all of them if he had just cut his spark out the minute he tried to harm Mag—Minimus. 

But Sixshot didn’t get a chance for a nice told-you-so, and he couldn’t quite figure out where the tiny green bot had scurried off to. No one else really seemed to know much about what was going on either, most of them marching back into the Lost Light partially in a daze. No one seemed to care that Sixshot was just hanging around now, a few odd looks here and there notwithstanding. No one had made a move to lock him up again, at least. 

He’d wandered around, eventually deciding to follow a small crowd that led him to a bar. Everyone had seemed to decide that, even with the husks of dead legislators and bullet ridden tables overturned everywhere, they just needed a really stiff drink before dealing with all of that. Sixshot had sat down on the floor in front of a particularly pathetic looking table, and the little red minibot running the place had simply handed him a pint of engex without a word. 

Sixshot had just begun thinking that maybe he should help with the cleanup effort when Magnus — back in all his tall blue glory — came and sat down next to him. On the floor, even, which seemed like quite an achievement for him to let go of himself so much to pull off such a move. Sixshot tried to say hi, but Magnus reached behind his neck and without preamble, removed the mode lock. 

Sixshot slumped over the broken down table with relief. “Oh my god, you have no idea how good it feels to get that off. I had no idea how tense I was.” 

“I would say sorry for the discomfort, but…” He trailed off and shrugged. 

Sixshot looked up at him from his slumped position. “So…” 

“Which part are you asking about?” 

Sixshot frowned, because it was a very good question. “Am I going back in the brig?” he decided. 

“I’ve talked it over with Rodimus,” Magnus said. “For now, no. I told him about… you saving me. And of course, everyone saw you fighting alongside us against the legislators. So, provisionally… you can stay, if you wish. As a crew member, if that’s what you want.” 

Sixshot nodded. “Cool.” 

Another long pause passed between them. 

Magnus cleared his throat. “I expect you’ll want to know about—” 

“So are we okay—” Sixshot began at the same time. 

Magnus blinked at him. “What?” 

“I just meant.” Sixshot sat up straighter and pointed between the two of them. “Like, I mean, I know people kinda found out about _us_ and that was weird, so I just wanted to know, like. Are we still… you know…” 

Magnus stared at him. 

“Casual lovers?” Sixshot offered. 

“I—” Magnus started, then stopped instantly. “I thought you’d want to know about… I mean… you saw me without the armor and…” 

“Oh, well, obviously I’d love to hear more about that,” Sixshot said. “I just, you know… are we still… whatever we were?” 

“I…” Magnus’s eyes darted away, around at the mess, and then back to Sixshot’s face. “I mean, I’d like that… If you’re okay with…” Magnus waved a hand at himself in a nonsensical kind of way that Sixshot somehow fully understood. 

“I don’t see why that would make a difference.” Sixshot said. “I—” 

And with that, Sixshot was cut off by Magnus shoving their lips together. As kisses went, it had all the subtlety and poise of a sledgehammer, but Sixshot found he liked that about it. 

He wondered if anyone in the wrecked bar was paying attention to them at all, but then again, they were two very hard to miss bots, suddenly making out.

Magnus broke away, with Sixshot still in shock. “Oh,” he said, pulling further back away. “I almost forgot.” He reached behind to one of his storage panels, and pulled something out. “I have this for you. Meant to return it to you straight away.” 

Sixshot looked down at his hands, to find Magnus handing his back his face mask. He looked at, then at Magnus, then back down. 

“Oh screw it,” he finally said, chucking it across the room. 

It hit the opposite wall with a sharp ‘ting’, and he pulled Magnus in for another kiss.


End file.
